Four Until Late
by sidewalk serfer girl
Summary: Takes place between sessions 6 and 7. Faye reflects on Jet, Spike, sleeping and shooting stuff.


So.

One-shot...

I did a couple of revisions. I hope I pulled this thing off. I'm not terribly adept at writing one-shots. But, galldarnit, I try!

ssg.x.

* * *

_He really is a self-absorbed, egocentric, son of a bitch, isn't he?_

Faye had rather irrationally made the decision to give him the silent treatment. But still. He could at least develop some semblance of common courtesy and _notice_ that she wasn't speaking to him. Even if he'd expressed some sort of pleasure at her silence (which, to be honest, would have been more like him), at least she'd feel like she existed.

Faye hadn't been around these guys long enough to know what was normal behaviour from not so normal. Jet seemed to be the moodier one out of the two of them. He muttered to himself a lot. God knew what the hell he'd go on about. Faye had recently learned that the habit should just be ignored. She used to answer back with a 'huh?' or 'what was that?', mistakenly believing he was addressing her, but soon realized that wasn't the case.

But for every 'nothing' he'd snap in return, she could remember a time she'd catch him smiling to himself. Sometimes it would be accompanied by a soft chuckle. Jet was okay.

Spike came off as rather easy-going and good-natured. Greedy and stubborn, too. But that could be a prejudgement. She was sure she came off as being a money-grubber, too, although neither of the guys knew why and she wasn't about to explain. Not until she at the very least felt welcome.

Until anyone cared enough to ask.

Spike hadn't been himself -- or what Faye perceived 'being himself' to be -- since he'd returned miraculously from killing that kid. No one really followed up on that with her. She got the feeling that Jet hadn't actually spoken to Spike about it either, but that they knew and understood eachother enough now that they didn't need to use words anymore. Faye felt alienated, something that she should have been naturally used to after all this time out on her own in this strange, alternate, Star Trek episode of a universe she sort of got dropped into, but she felt it even stronger this time than usual.

She wondered sometimes if it was better to live alone in your own solitude than alone within a group.

She didn't like that in the short time she'd known him, Spike had gone off to get shot full of holes several times and returned with nary a concern that all this backwards and forwards with her emotions was leaving her nauseous. Well. No matter if Spike hadn't bothered giving her closure on the latest chapter of his seemingly endless Idiodyssey.

She'd only really wanted him to try to tell her so she could ignore him.

She'd decided not to speak to him after he'd left because he'd done it rather un-apologetically, not caring that they'd worry about him or be sad that he was gone.

Not giving a shit that she didn't want him to leave.

_If._

_If _she didn't want him to leave.

But -- and this nearly made her laugh out loud when she thought of it now -- he didn't even care that she wasn't speaking to him, let alone whether or not she gave a shit if he went out and dropped into the ocean that surrounded them now.

It just fucking figured.

* * *

"I can finally die now…"

Withered and gnarled and no longer even human…

"…I feel so at ease…now…"

Body caving in on itself, bones coming out any way they could, in every direction, like plants searching for the sun…

"…Do you know...? Do you know understand…? Do you…?"

Eyelids dry and yellowed and thin like parchment close and Spike tries to shuck off any feelings of bitterness or sadness from his shoulders by leaning over and taking the small harmonica into his fingers. He needs to distract himself from this highly unforeseen aftermath he finds himself in now.

He hesitates for a second before blowing into the harmonica, very nearly breaking one of his own rules through demonstration of even the slightest bit of remorse for the dead.

Although, with his lips against the tiny instrument, the source of its massive ripples of sound and colour having left it now, he realizes this is not a death to be mourned. He'd have been mourning a life. The death was to be celebrated.

_I feel so at ease…now…_

"Like I do."

_Like I do…_

* * *

"He's back." Jet mumbled, stretching his arms up over his head. He made the announcement of Spike's arrival as though Faye were the one waiting up for him. He stood from the orange sofa and took a moment to gather his tired and over-worked muscles to himself before making his way doggedly up the steps and down the corridor, presumedly heading for bed.

For the past several days Jet would work and work and work on repairs or fine-tune ones he'd already made a dozen times just to avoid speaking directly to Spike. Faye would be all coiled and ready to jump on him about the plumbing or the heat then find him already on the task. In the evenings Jet would be so exhausted Faye would catch him fast asleep, upright and hovering over an unfinished game of solitaire.

"Why don't you go to sleep?" She'd suggested late on evening three.

"Why don't you go make some money?" He'd mutter back, too out of his mind to change the retort every time she asked.

"I don't understand you." She said, too tired to be exasperated. She'd been waiting up for him, too, these past few days. "If you're worried about him why don't you just say something. I thought you guys were friends."

Jet's heavy-lidded eyes closed. More than half-asleep he mumbled, "Let sleeping dogs lie."

"Spike's not asleep. And you should really get to bed, old man. You're making less and less sense every second that passes."

"Let thinking men lie."

"It's what you men do best." She said to herself as he disappeared into the kitchen area, probably to make himself another cup of coffee. _Lying to eachother. Lying to yourselves. _

_Idiots._

The funniest bit was that Jet didn't want Spike to know he'd been waiting up for him, so Jet would listen for the different sounds on the ship that would signal his return then hurriedly make his way to his room. That particular night Jet had nearly lost a foot along with that arm of his banging into a corner of the armchair on his way up to the steps.

When the length and depth of the silence around her made her comfortable enough, Faye reached behind her ear and pulled out a cigarette. She didn't like being so stingy – especially when it came to stupid things like cigarettes but she found she didn't have much of a choice. It was only weeks ago (months?) she'd had all that money and flit it all away on food and shoes she'd never really have the chance to wear. _And booze. So much booze._

When Jet and Spike had found her she'd never felt so stupid in her entire life (she assumed, anyways). All that money and nothing to show for it. So she decided she had to be a little more careful. She was sure any day now the boys would bag her up and toss her off into space like so much trash and she had to be ready for it. Not like she was saving up for a pony or retirement or anything like that, but she wanted to make sure she'd have at least enough to last her whilst 'in between jobs'.

She sucked greedily at her cigarette while popping the used match from beneath the sofa cushion into the unfinished mug of coffee Jet had left on the coffee table.

"You just missed him." She said. She'd known he was standing behind her, hidden in the spectrum of blues and shadows peppering every corner of the room, for a whole five minutes now. She could smell vodka. Yesterday it was scotch.

"He's gone to bed, then?"

"Yes. A while ago now." Wondering how much money he'd been holding out on the two of them. How could he afford enough drinks to get this way every night for the past week? And it wasn't the cheap stuff, either. "He's not your mother. I don't think he really gives two shits if you're drunk or sober."

Spike sat down beside her, leaning his head back and rubbing a hand furiously across his eyes. He exhaled heavily and reached a hand out towards Faye without looking at her.

"This is my last one." She replied without looking at him.

He motioned with his hand more insistently, and she passed him the cigarette she'd been smoking. She reached a hand into the neck of her tank top and pulled out another cigarette. She struck another match against the heel of Spike's boot and lit up, inhaling deeply and watching Spike's eyes open and close gently as he breathed.

"You're really an awful liar."

"Yes, well…I guess it's just not in my nature." She replied. There was a pause.

"Awful," he chuckled. He was quiet for a long time and she began to worry.

"Are you alright?" She ventured.

"Coming down," he said, yawning.

"Why are you doing this?"

"There's some stuff he doesn't need to know."

"Not that," she began, bravely sitting up straight and speaking a hint above a whisper. "I mean have you always drank this much? Are you like this all the time?"

"Hopefully you won't be on this ship long enough to find that out." He said, not trying hard enough. The edge was gone from his voice. The words slurred gently between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut like the sound of his own voice was too loud for the inside of his head.

Faye shook her head and turned away from him. She puffed at her cigarette, looking down at her hands, watching the smoke change the colour of her skin. Her eyes flit to the gangly and corpse-like man seated beside her. He was watching her.

"What?"

"I – " Spike fumbled. _He really must be drunk, _she thought. Words never seemed to fail this guy when it counted. As though he'd read her mind he said, "I must be really drunk. You…It's stupid. You're just a girl. You just look like a girl, is all."

"As oppose to what?" She asked casually, feeling insulted.

"You ask too many questions." He muttered.

"You keep too many secrets." She hissed back. As an afterthought, she added, "Did you ever think that maybe the effort of keeping things to yourself is all for naught? I mean did you ever think that no one really gives a shit where you come from or where you're going?"

"Funny. You seem to care a great deal." He said. Even intoxicated he was still sharper than her.

"Yeah, well, maybe that's because the Spiegel in my head is tonnes more interesting than the one lying here on the couch right now."

"How'd I get there?"

"Where?"

"In your head." He suddenly sat up and a long, slender finger drilled slowly into her forehead. "How'd. I. Get. In. There." He said. He laughed gently to himself and Faye didn't know whether to smile or not.

Something inside her clicked like train tracks changing the direction of the moment. While only five minutes ago things seemed light and faintly friendly, she felt like he was about to crack open. And the idea of that had the potential to terrify. She couldn't become more than anything but comrades, she realized. Not if she wanted to have somewhere to sleep for more than one night. And especially not if the person in question had a deathwish.

She'd thought dreams were different. That she was safe in her dreams. But she'd unwittingly let a stranger in just now. Now nowhere was safe.

The grin on his face shrank to a strange little frown. He blinked heavily, his fingertip still poised against her head like the barrel of a gun.

"You…" He whispered. He seemed to be studying her. His gaze focused and unfocused and Faye thought there was something funny about his eyes but she couldn't figure out exactly what with the distraction of his scent, a culmination of the side-effects of his evening's choice of medicine. Cigarettes and alcohol and his own personal scent that she could never name or describe. A scent she tried to conjure sometimes late at night. Because even if it was _his_ scent she found that combined with her own it made being alone on this ship increasingly more bearable.

Faye's heart thudded heavily in her chest when his breath suddenly became her own. The drumming stopped. Started again.

_Get out of my head, _she wanted to scream.

"You…You're just a girl, after all. Just like…" His free hand crept along the bare skin at the nape of her neck, trailed her hairline , cupped her face. She couldn't remember when he'd gotten so close. She couldn't understand how she couldn't feel him until just now. _This way._

"A girl…just like any other girl." Repeating himself, like the words were a mantra. Like he was trying to fix the meaning of the words into just the right place in his mind.

"No," she said firmly, risking the intimacy of the moment. "I'm many things. But I'm _nothing_ like any other girl."

And that was the truth.

"I know how to pick 'em." He whispered, smiling sadly.

And then his mouth took hers carefully, parting her lips softly with the tip of a tongue soured with vodka and lime, and she couldn't control her mouth, her knees, her heart yielding and bending to the sound of a gentle moan and rush of air escaping his long, elegant throat. She felt tears prickling her eyes and couldn't think where they were coming from, except maybe from a place far away in space and time. A place she could no longer remember.

One of his arms clasped tightly around her waist taking her breath from her as she was hoisted rather clumsily onto his lap, the soft round of her belly pulled against the semi-hardness of his groin. His kisses,_ their_ kisses quickly became painful. His teeth were in the flesh of her tongue, her lips, along her jawline and back again. Hers were equally emotionally agitated. His hands kneaded her hips and she remembered maybe tearing at his ear, maybe gasping his name into it. She began to fear that they'd burst into flames and wondered if he sensed this. Abruptly he pulled away.

He looked into her eyes and it shook her like nothing had since she first discovered 2068. He whispered urgently, "You won't tell her, will you? If she comes back…" He suddenly sobbed against her ear, "Why hasn't she come back yet?"

The arms she'd wrapped fiercely around his neck went lax suddenly, and instead of holding him with the intensity of a lover Faye found herself cradling him like a child. His breathing tempered and she felt his shoulders relax and curl into themselves as he settled against her chest. She couldn't see his face but she knew his eyes were closed.

She didn't ask him who he'd been talking about because she'd have to be an idiot not to know. There was a _someone_.

All this time she'd been afraid of not having something to protect herself from these two men, only assuming they never worried for a moment about such things. She needn't ever fear getting too close to Spike. And he needn't erect all these walls, all this mystery around himself. He clearly already had one of unscaleable proportions around his heart.

Faye wondered who this person was. She wondered if she was pretty. How pretty. She wondered why she was never pretty enough for guys like Spike.

Faye pretended to be relieved that the potential derailing of the threesome's camaraderie had come to a screeching halt. She'd have a roof over her head and cigarettes under her pillow for a little while longer. She tried to think of the stress-free days ahead, the restful nights. But in reality she could feel her heart sinking like a stone into a darkness she never knew she was capable of containing before tonight.

And she knew the sleepless nights would continue as long as his dark curls and puzzling eyes continued to make her insides ache.

Spike's arms hung loosely around her hips and she could soon hear the deep exhales signifying a sound sleep interrupted only occasionally by a mild, hiccupped sob. His moist breath tickled the crook of her neck and the smell of alcohol was beginning to make her feel quite ill, filling her nostrils, eyes and head. But she held him still. She held him until he made her stop.

* * *

The next morning, Faye had pulled herself out of bed earlier than usual – even earlier than Jet -- after giving up on the fight for sleep. She decided she needed to get out of this slump she'd been in for the past couple of days and get back to what she did best. _Shooting stuff._ The guys were dragging her down into their tar pit of self-absorption and egocentricity and she decided she just wasn't having it anymore.

Jet seemed no less than astonished that she was not only up before him, but had already found a fairly decent bounty to go after and researched some spots to potentially sniff him out of. There was a pot of water boiling on the stovetop ready for the almost impressively disgusting instant coffee they'd been forced to drink the past two weeks.

"Decker."

"Decker?"

"Yeah. 12 million."

"Not bad, I guess. How's he look?"

"Easy to moderate, I guess. I don't know too much about this stuff."

"You'll get the hang of it." Jet said. Faye looked back over her shoulder at him from the coffee table she sat on as she worked. He smiled carefully at her before heading back to the kitchen area to take the pot off. Faye returned the smile before turning back to her research on the computer. She sighed with near relief to herself as she continued to type.

She only barely glanced up when she heard Spike enter the room. He was wearing a towel knotted and gathered up around his waist into a pasty fist that matched the pasty face above it. His eyes looked dark and miserable hovering over darker circles beneath them. His lips were the same ashen colour as the rest of him. He looked like one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse. She tried to remember all their names. Well, anyways – one of them.

"Wow. You look like sour milk in a test tube." She said. The mention of sour milk made him grimace. He sat down on the couch behind her. "I think I'm coming down with something. A flu or something." He mumbled.

_Oh, okay._

He didn't say anything after that and neither did Faye. When Jet came in he followed their lead and sat sipping his coffee quietly from the armchair.

Any mention of the night before was never made. Faye liked to think it was because Spike just didn't remember anything. She wanted to keep her dreams – if she'd ever have any again -- to herself. She needed one safe sanctuary to hide in this strange, cold place she'd awoken to only three years ago. Three years isn't as long a time as you'd think.

Not compared to fifty.

Later, as she helplessly watched Spike lifting from his mono pod in another effort to demonstrate both his courage and his capability for being an imbecile, she hoped against hope that he _didn't_ remember what had happened the night before. Because if he remembered it would mean that right now, at this moment, he knew she cared for him. And didn't care. Which would mean he didn't care about her either. He would just keep doing reckless, stupid things.

And what kind of a person would do something so reckless and stupid without realizing or being the least bit concerned about the consequences of his actions? An idiot. Plain and simple.

That evening as they picked at their ramen noodles and spinach, Faye caught Spike watching her carefully through the corner of her eye.

"I'm just a girl, Spike. Just like any other girl." She said lightly. Spike watched her for a moment longer, bemused, then turned back to his dinner. Faye smiled to herself, fighting off the shiver she felt along her spine whenever he paid her the slightest bit of this sort of attention.

_An idiot. Plain and simple._

Boy, did she know how to pick 'em.


End file.
